Portraits of Jesus

I saw Jesus one day in a face that was black—
'twas a man, so gentle, yet strong—
reflecting the grace and the love of our Lord
in his actions, his words and his song.

When I heard where he'd been, in the bondage of sin,
and that now he was gloriously free,
I cried as I prayed, "Lord, that's just what I want!
Oh, let others see Jesus in me!"

Is He black? Is He white? Is He yellow or brown?
Is He fair or so wrinkled with years? 
Like the hues of the rainbow, He glows in them all;
it depends on whose face He appears.

I saw Jesus one day in a face that was brown;
yes, I saw Him in one that was white;
it wasn't the shade or the color at all,
but a joy and a radiance so bright.

On the face of a mother, a daughter, a son
and a father whose life God did mend—
on the face of each sinner redeemed and forgiv'n—
there's a portrait of Jesus, my friend!

Is He black? Is He white? Is He yellow or brown?
Is He fair or so wrinkled with years? 
Like the hues of the rainbow, He glows in them all;
it depends on whose face He appears.

fpn/undated

This poem is set to music. To obtain a copy, contact Joyce.



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